HUNTING THE JAGUAR 85 



"Come on, it's three o'clock; we've got to walk 

 over a mile to catch the horses, and we want to be 

 hunting before sun-up." 



We rode straight away to the south, where the 

 faint outline of a strip of jungle showed against 

 the sky. "How does it feel to be in the saddle 

 again?" asked big Jack. 



"Feel? Why, it's got struggling along 

 through the jungle on foot beaten forty ways," 

 said I. 



"By thunder," broke in Jack. "I wonder 

 what's struck those dogs ! Look at 'em go ! And 

 none of 'em saying a word, none of 'em singing, 

 and running a blue streak!" 



Jack pulled up and stood upright on his horse's 

 back in order to get a better view. "There they 

 go!" continued Jack, pointing over the savannah, 

 "headed for that neck of wood. Come on, you 

 Yankee cowpuncher; let's see you ride," Jack 

 sung out as we broke into a run. 



"You don't call this riding, do you a little 

 run over a level piece of ground?" I whipped 

 out. "Why, out West, we just call this 'pleasure 

 ridin'.' ' Jack grinned, and his white teeth 

 glinted in the early light. The hounds, after run- 

 ning in grim silence, now gave tongue in loud 

 chorus, while we w r ere running on the inside of a 



